


Proud of my creation

by Dareandwriteit



Series: Dadgnus and his detective son [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angus' dad is there and he is abusive, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Julia is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dareandwriteit/pseuds/Dareandwriteit
Summary: Angus learns what it is to be proud of what you create, and why some people do not feel that pride.In the Patterns of Migration AU/universe/whatever we're calling it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Patterns of Migration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709301) by [goodnicepeople](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnicepeople/pseuds/goodnicepeople). 



> So I don't know how long this will be. Probably not more than 2-3 chapters. But it will end happily, don't worry.
> 
> Serious warning for allusions to child abuse here for Angus, as well anxiety and dissociation. It gets pretty heavy at times.
> 
> My tumblr is dareandwriteitdown if you want to chat to me about TAZ!

Magnus had been a little hesitant about starting up his own carpentry business. It had been so _long_ , he said, there’s no one who’s still going to want a Burnsides chair, he said, my work’s nowhere near as good thanks to these injuries, he said. But he wanted to. Angus could tell by the ways his hands itched on the long quiet days, by the way he would labour over a chair they had no space for.

For all they’d been through, Magnus still just wanted to give.

They converted the barn out the back of the house. They spent long summer days fixing it up, sleeves rolled up and pushing brooms along the splintered floor. Fistfuls of hay thrown like confetti from the upstairs window, sticking to shirts and sprouting from their hair. Lounging on opened sacks of sawdust as the sun went down, drinking lemonade that had too much sugar and not enough lemon. Magnus would put up the heavy furniture and the Angus would decorate: neat rows for tools, lamps hanging from hooks, and a polished bell and fresh ledger left on the desk. When they placed the final chairs and lit the last lamps, they had stood side by side and admired their work. Angus’ life was so many parts cleaning up others messes, rehearsing others ideas. Detective work and magic were things to be cultivated, to be taught. But stood here, the beginnings of sunburn across his nose and skinned palms, he knew what it was to create something. He knew what it was to feel proud to put something out into the world.

He knew why Magnus gave as much as he did.

Angus had helped Magnus with the business side of the carpentry business. Magnus would never let him chop wood or sweep down the tools, so Angus contented himself with the numbers of the place. Magnus frequently undercharged people, to the point where he would often spend more on making an item than he could ever hope to make. ( _But they have their first baby coming! It wouldn’t be right to charge them._ ) Angus would sit over the ledger of orders late at night, checking over Magnus’ unsure shaky letters. Names were misspelled, or forgone altogether, and numbers bled between entries. It was almost unintelligible. 

Angus enjoyed the work. It made him feel necessary and valuable. Late in the evenings, he would read over the ledger by the light of fireplace, warm and safe in Magnus’ arms.

The name for the place had proved difficult. “The Hammer” felt unfinished, merely an echo of a workshop long since shattered and turned to dust. “Burnside’s Carpentry” felt too clinical, too proper to be Magnus’ shop. So right now the sign remained unfinished, an elaborate border with ducks in its corners sporting no name.

They didn’t need one. Magnus may not be the folk hero he once was, but word of his skill spread regardless. The first ledger was quickly filled, and then a second, and then a third. Things of every kind came into being within the walls: chairs, ornaments, charms, cutlery. Things Magnus had never even tried, complex tools and magical components, that he and Angus planned out on large sheets of paper once they dimmed the lights for the night. Magnus even made a wand, a somewhat simple but gorgeous rosewood affair that had exploded on the first attempt.

It was rare that a day went by without customers sticking their head around the door. A quick inquiry, or thank you, or request for a repair. Angus and Magnus often spent their days in the barn, the gentle _tap, tap, tap_ of Magnus chipping away at a block of wood in time with the gentle swipe of Angus turning pages. A person would enter, and Angus would look up from his place at the desk and greet them with a welcoming smile.

“Hello, how can I help you Sir?”

It worked. It became familiar, like an old jumper slipped into with complete comfort. It was not the entirety of their lives. But it was a constant that grounded the way their lives entwined. Despite an initial reluctance to do so, Magnus eventually let Angus mind the shop while he was out. Whenever he went out to collect stuff from the market, or to do some menial task, he would walk Angus through the shop. Don’t touch the tools. Be careful with the loose beams. Take care to lower the lights when it’s dark.

I know, I know, Angus would say with a knowing smile.

I know, Ango, Magnus would say ruffling his hair, no longer having to reach so far down to do so. I love you.

I love you too.

It was rehearsed, almost thoughtless. A dance where no music was needed, where the steps were well worn. They bid each other goodbye, and Angus took his spot behind the desk, waiting for the next cue. And sure enough, the door swung open with a heavy creak, and Angus put down his book.

“Hello, how can I help you, S-” Angus looked up, and his heart turned to ice. His sentence withered and died.

“Where’s your father?” Angus’ father asked. Angus’ father, one Gregor McDonald, was engaged with taking off his hat and placing it on the coat hook by the door. A man who appeared like a sketch of Angus done from a less than perfect memory: the same dense curls, dark skin spattered with freckles and weak brown eyes behind thick lenses. With some years of growth behind him, Angus knew he had the same lanky legs and would like likely develop the same painful discomfort in his wrists. 

Gregor hadn’t looked at Angus yet. There were maybe seconds before he did.

Angus felt a thousand thoughts flood his head in a nauseating whirl. The first was a gut instinct, a terror without words that made his bones turn cold. A sudden urge to lurch for the door, immediately suppressed by an instinct to sit up straight. To tidy his hair. To hide he grazed hands behind his back. To apologise, for something, for anything, for everything.

It had been years, Angus only realised now, enough for his dad to turn grey and develop creases across his brow. His father no longer towered over him. There was a slight frailty to his stance that had once sent Angus running across the room. But his eyes… His eyes were still the exact same. 

Gregor looked at Angus with some scrutiny. Angus yelped quietly, and mashed his knuckles into his teeth, trying to force the sound back down. Gregor came closer to the desk, his face still a picture of cold curiosity. Angus’s heart felt like it was swelling in size, crushing his lungs and straining his ribs. He got to his feet, despite the shooting numbness in his legs. It was impolite to sit when addressing a superior. He kept his chin up (as any respectful businessman must) and tried to ignore the nausea bubbling in his throat.

“Well?” Gregor asked, coldly.

“E-E-Excuse me?” Angus croaked.

“Where is your father? I want to request an order.” Gregor said, impatient.

“I-I can do that, for you, Sir.” Angus said, burying his attention in the ledger. His hands were shaking as he turned the pages, and he desperately hoped that his father wouldn’t notice. Of course he didn’t remember. Why would he? Angus had given his all the necessary information to the Voidfish, reviewing and reviewing it to make sure he didn’t erase too much, or too little. He could still remember the exact words of the first few pages. He’d read them until they had lost all meaning, until his name and birthday had been nothing but scribbles on a page.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to remember, Angus forced himself to think. It was that he couldn’t. But would he have wanted to? Would the Gregor McDonald, who had never been anything but “Sir” or in very close moments “father”, want to have such a son still around? A son who was always too inquisitive, too boisterous, too _present_ even when he stood in the corner with his hands neatly behind him and his voice silenced.

Angus found the page he needed, and began to take the notes. Gregor tutted sharply, a sound that sent a shock up Angus’ spine and made him flinch.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Angus spit out, keeping his eyes on the book. Taking in the lines. Reading the last few names over and over. 

Mookie. Annie S. GG.  
Mookie. Annie S. GG.  
Mookie. Annie S. GG.

“I should think so.” Gregor grumbled, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You haven’t thought to ask my name.”

Angus felt the urge to laugh flare in his stomach and it made him feel even sicker. That awful crushing sensation, gone so long he’d thought he left it behind forever, of instinctually suppressing outbursts of any kind. It felt like he was drowning part of himself, the strain of laboured breaths and thrashing limbs beneath water that must stay calm. He couldn’t think of what to say, so only looked at his father with an inquisitive look, pen ready.

“Gregor McDonald.”

Angus traced over the name he had already written, the letters shaken and scratchy. He nodded concisely, and swallowed hard to try and clear the blockage in his chest.

“What would you like, Sir?” Angus' voice was being dragged from his rib cage like a body dredged from a lake.

“I require a new seal made.” Gregor said, impatiently.

Angus diligently wrote what he could, but his writing was illegible. His was shaking too much, he was thinking too much. He knocked the inkwell over as he reached to dip his pen in it, ink pooling over the desk and over Gregor’s hands. Both Angus and Gregor jumped back in alarm, Angus quickly snatching the ledger and holding it above his head. The black ink had begun to drip off the desk, the quiet drip the only sound between them. Angus thought how it would stain Magnus’ beautiful desk, and then he thought to look up at Gregor.

The ink had ruined his gloves (rare pegasus skin ones, an heirloom that was once destined to be Angus’) and left great black stripes down the sleeves of his jacket. Gregor was furious. 

Angus only remembered his father being furious once before. He was too young to remember what it was exactly. Or maybe he wasn’t, and he just didn’t want to remember. He knew his mother had not let him go outside for a while, or to see any of their high society friends. He was told to wear a hat at all times, even at the table. He’d had headaches for a long time after, and that eventually lead to his getting glasses to lessen the problem.

The one thing that he remembered was the cane. The one which Gregor had walked with, even back then. It was made clear to Angus, again and again as he cried because his head hurt, that it had not been his father’s intention. That it was an accident, the fault of Angus refusing to take his punishment in a manner fitting of a gentleman. If only you’d stayed still, Angus. This is what builds character, Angus. You’re a McDonald, Angus, and that comes with expectations.

They never hit him again. They barely deigned to touch him, as though he was made of china which now had a crack through its center. His father had shown him the inside of one of his bespoke pocket-watches as a way of drawing him closer. They observed the hands ticking away, marching them away from the one time Angus saw his father furious. Burying it somewhere behind them, refusing to mark the spot where it lay.

And here it was again, a world a thousand days away, uncovered before them. Gregor had raised his cane above his head, and he was yelling until he was red in the face. But Angus couldn’t understand. It was a sensation that was rare to him, but his mind just could not make sense of it. He could not think of how to think. It was as though the wires had suddenly got pulled from his head, and the inputs were no longer connected. Things were happening, but they were not happening to Angus, because Angus wasn’t here. There was just a person, and that person was standing there waiting for the cane to come down.

There was a bang, and a stampede of dogs ran into the room. There were excited, never usually allowed into the barn, and stormed past Gregor in a flurry of barks. Gregor turned to the door, cane still raised as though it was about to strike.

Magnus was standing in the doorway. There was no sign of his usual armfuls of supplies, most likely abandoned some distance down the path. Instead he held a familiar heavy shape in his hands, the sharp blade of Railsplitter reflecting the late evening’s sunset.

As furious as Gregor was, he was not even a shadow as angry as Magnus was in that moment. Angus had not seen this look in Magnus since their days at the Bureau, but even then it was rare. A look he reserved for the most fierce defenses, the greatest injustices. It made his scar seem to split his very face into something beastial, something that barely resembled the humble carpenter Magnus was. Angus was certain Magnus was going to kill Gregor, but could not force himself to intercede. He had no idea if he wanted to.

“Back the fuck off.” Magnus growled, hefting Railsplitter with a little more effort than he once had to.

Gregor lowered his cane, but maintained his resolve. “Merely a misunderstanding. Whelps like him,” Gregor jabbed his cane at Angus, who flinched violently. “Have no place in businesses such as this. I expected better from a master craftsman’s apprentice.”

“Who the fuck are you to judge my son?” Magnus stepped closer, drawing himself to his full height. Gregor looked so small and weak compared to him. But these things never cowed McDonald men.

“I am a well respected member of Neverwinter society. I expect a modicum of quality and respect from the services I seek.”

“I don’t serve assholes, no matter how snooty they are. Get out.” Magnus said, unmoved by Gregor’s lack of fear. Gregor looked to his cane.

“You really want to try that?” Magnus said, his jaw set. He locked eyes with Gregor, not looking away for anything. Gregor tightened his grip on the cane. 

Angus was scared. But it was not for himself. It was for Magnus, who did not know the man he was dealing with. And it was for his father, who thought he knew Magnus as only a dumb carpenter. Another person beneath him, easy to sway with the right money and named connections.

But Gregor left. He muttered some comment on reputation, always needing the last word. But he was gone. But Angus still didn’t feel as though he was there; the warmth of Magnus’ hands were on someone else’s shoulders, the cold of the dog’s noses against someone else’s shin. Magnus shook him gently, trying to coax words out of him. A name, a purpose. But Angus wasn’t there.

Magnus did not force Angus to talk. He didn’t force him to sit, or to hold, or to look at him. Magnus acted with the manner of a man who had seen this before, who had felt this distance from life. Magnus contented himself with rounding the dogs up and letting them out to the yard. He considered sweeping up the ink, and the dozens of pawprints left printed by it but decided against it. He crouched to Angus’ eye level.

“What happened Angus?” Magnus tried once again, in a voice soft by sheer effort. Angus was gripping the ledger tightly, his knuckles white from the effort. Magnus carefully took the book from him, Angus’ hands barely resisting. Magnus looked at the page, it’s edges dripping with ink. He cast a glance over the names for the day.

Mookie.  
Annie S.  
GG.

And then, in handwriting that Magnus did not recognise and could barely read:

Gregor McDonald.

“Oh.” Magnus said, placing the book down on a dry part of the desk. “Oh, Angus.” Magnus slowly wrapped his arms around the boy, and held him tight in weary arms. And he could not find the words, he so wished he could ask Angus what to say, so he resolved to say.  
“Oh, Angus, oh, Angus.”

Within Magnus’ tight arms, Angus finally felt his head begin to fall back into place. He began to cry. And then he began to wail, like that stupid child who had failed to build enough character, and that made him cry more. Tears flooded his face, hot and embarrassing. His head hurt. Existing hurt. He just wanted it to stop, but the tears kept coming. He felt as though hours upon hours passed in this embrace, wordless and miserable. He wanted to explain, but could not bare for Magnus to hear it. To give him a chance, no matter how remote, to see what his father did in Angus that was so unworthy of love.

So they didn’t talk. They just sat, comfortable in an embrace, and let as much time pass as they needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the THB in an attempt to parent.
> 
> Angus is non-verbal at this point, if you need warning for that. Mentions of Julia's death, and Magnus' issues with the Governor here.

Angus was woken by the front door shutting. Waking was a slow process, one sense slotting into place at a time. The sound was the first thing, the bang giving way to the gentle breeze whistling through the gaps in his window shutters. Without his glasses, Angus saw vague lights next: a deep, warm orange which shone too low against the wall. It was late. He had not left his bed for hours. For days, other than to pick up the plates of food Magnus left by the door. The thought of food was unwelcome: Angus’ stomach lurched at it, and it was all he could bare to each dry slivers of toast. The smell of bacon and eggs seeped into the room, and Angus pulled the covers over his head to escape it.

Gregor had visited a week ago. Angus could not shake the sight of his cane raised high, his face lined with wrinkles. The house had become crowded with uncomfortable silences, ones that jostled both Angus and Magnus. Angus could not talk, Magnus did not know how. He showed his attempts at comfort in tangible ways: warm hand on Angus’ back, a blanket draped silently over his lap as the cold drew in. 

Angus missed talking to Magnus. He felt loneliness well over in him, pooling in his fingers and eyes. He wished he could just reach out, take Magnus’ hand and say “I’m okay, Magnus. Thank you. I love you.” But Angus couldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t ask Magnus to take on the burden on raising him now he knew how broken he was. Magnus would do it. That was not the problem. But Angus knew Magnus. How he took on the weight of others, of protecting them or leading them or listening to them, to avoid his own burdens. He was far from untroubled, nights spent with fingers tangled in his hair, muttering as though a solution was on the tip of his tongue. The stuttering, jarring pauses as he hit some solid wall of the unknown, reaching for something just a little beyond his reach.

Magnus often ran at night, rather than sleep. He would lock and double bolt the doors, check beneath Angus’ bed before tucking him in for the night. For monsters, he would laugh, but his eyes would drift there again as he stood by the door. Waiting to hear some subtle ticking or footsteps. Good night. I love you. A phrase made pointedly rather than entirely from compassionate feeling. I’ve said it for tonight, his eyes would say. I didn’t miss my opportunity. If I were to look back, I would know that I’d made it clear.

Angus wondered what had made Magnus so fiercely defensive sometimes. He had the clues he had gleaned from months of observation in back of a notebook kept beneath his socks. 

A town called Ravens Roost, which was mentioned by a few visiting well wishers. Most younger than Magnus, many with scars much like his own. They shared drinks, and apologies, and memories which Angus was not privy too. When they left they would shake Angus’ hand, or pat his head. Say “glad to finally meet another Burnsides” or “your mom would have loved you” and Angus would pretend to understand because he could feel the pain radiating from Magnus at those words. Magnus would drink those nights. Never much. Just enough to help him sleep.

A woman named Julia. Magnus would mention her unthinkingly, in moments of happiness that required no thought. _Julia would have loved this!_ the day the dog pound forgot to lock their gate. _Jules would know_ when they were filling in a crossword that asked the name of some old bard. _Always had two left feet, even for Julia’s first dance_ when he trod on Angus’ toes, trying to teach him the steps of a waltz.

Magnus didn’t need to take Angus’ pain too. Angus would handle it, just as soon as he stopped feeling sick. So Angus lay back, and concentrated on feeling better. It was a test of his character, not his constitution. He was going to get better.

Angus overheard a sound downstairs. It was his nature, a detective always on high alert, always eavesdropping. He made out the tea kettle whistling. The scraping of a dining chair (the one with one leg a fraction of an inch too short, by the sound) being pushed out on the kitchen tiles. The light twang of a metal spoon dropped in a china mug. And then.

“So what’s up, big man?” Taako’s drawling voice was unmistakable, even muffled through the floor.

“Yeah, I didn’t haul my ass up here just to drink your shitty tea.” And that was Merle, slightly more muffled by the distance.

Angus felt cold sweep across his skin. Why were they all here? They were never _all_ here, except for Candlenights and birthdays and anniversaries. 

“It’s Angus.” Magnus said, in a groaning voice that betrayed he was settling into a chair.

Merle and Taako said something indistinct in response. The gentle ticking of the clock on Angus’ bedside table tripped up their words. Angus turned it face down, stopping it’s regular ticks with a loud clunk. 

“Yeah,” Magnus said from down below. “I didn’t say anything, ‘cause Angus wasn’t saying anything. But it’s been a week, and he still won’t talk, and I don’t know-”

“And you thought we would?” Taako said, incredulously.

“I- I guess not. I just… Maybe it’s me?” Magnus said.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Merle said, “Kid’s smart. He knows where his bread’s buttered.”

“Gross.” Taako said.

“I mean, he ain’t gonna throw this whole deal away. Unlike some of us, he’s actually got some smarts in his head.” Merle said. He sounded as though he was speaking from experience.

“Could you guys talk to him? Try and see what you can do to cheer him up? Taako, he always loves your magic lessons.” Magnus said.

“No offense Mags, but spells are verbal for a reason. If the kid’s mute, I can’t teach him shit.” Taako said, an edge in his voice that he was perhaps not really aware of.

“And I barely know what to say him normally, you think I stand a chance?” Merle said.

“Please!” Magnus yelled, and it was a clear as a bell even through the floorboards. There was a beat, no doubt filled with the three of them looking up Angus’ room and expecting him to react. Angus remained as still as he could. “I…” Magnus said, his voice far weaker. “I’m not right. For this, I mean.”

Another beat, a question unasked but sitting there any way.

“I can’t watch him hurt like this. The guy was screaming at him, I could hear him all the way across the street. I thought I was too late. I thought... I’d lost him. I can’t do that again. I won’t. I won’t go through it.” Magnus’ voice began to shake, and there was a lengthy pause as he tried to compose himself. “I need to protect him from this. And I don’t know how.”

“Do we need to go on an old fashioned murder quest on this old ding dong?” Taako said.

The words hit a nerve with Angus, the “murder quest” something mentioned in whispers between Taako and Merle. A thing distinctly not for Magnus, not allowed in his presence. Angus didn’t doubt for a second they would happily kill his father. They were quite used to that. But there wasn’t even a moment for Angus to process how he felt about that before Magnus spoke again.

“No. That won’t solve anything. What he did to Angus, or didn’t do, or whatever… That’s in the past. His dad can’t do it now, I need to help with _this_. Now.”

“You’ve changed.” Taako said, his voice soft after a moment of surprise. “Daddy Burnsides has gone soft. Where’s the big and burly Magnus who threw a gang member off a cliff for no good reason?”

“Don’t call me that.” Magnus said, with something of a smile in his voice.

“The big and burly part or the daddy part?” Merle asked, and there was scuffle. The sound of Magnus playfully pushing Merle out of his chair. Laughter, for the first time in a week.

Angus got out of bed. He creeped along the corridor, following the sounds of glee that echoed through the walls.

“Sounds to me that you’ve gotta trust Angus on this one,” Taako’s voice got louder as Angus took cautious steps. “You can’t rush these things. Kid’s life was pretty wanged. Can’t unfuck it with hugs, or wooden ducks, or whatever bullshit you usually do.”

“So what do I do?” Magnus asked as Angus reached the stairs, and began to descend them quietly.

“Wait.” Merle said. “I might not be the most experienced dad, but kids are tough little fuckers. Ain’t indestructible, that’s for damn sure, but they bounce back. Just gotta give’um somewhere safe to bounce to.”

And Angus appeared in the kitchen doorway. The three men looked at him with a intense look of concern. Angus felt small, and realised how terrible he must have looked with unwashed hair and old clothes. Magnus quickly got to his feet, and crouched down to Angus’ level.

“You ok Ango? Did we wake you?”

Angus felt the “no” sitting in his throat, but instead he shook his head. Magnus looked sad for a moment, but it was so brief Angus couldn’t be sure it was there.

“You want some tea? Merle brought it, it’s real sweet and warm.”

Angus considered going upstairs again. But he saw Merle and Taako sitting at the table. Not concerned as Magnus was. They cared, sure, but they were not hurt by this caring. They were happy to see him. They were already glaring at each other in a silent battle of who would have to give up their seat for Angus to be able to sit next to Magnus.

Very quietly, in a voice creaking from disuse, Angus said, “Yes, please.”

It hard not to see the bolt of joy that rushed across the three men. Taako’s ears were his real tell, his otherwise impassive face betrayed by the happy swish to attention they did. Merle’s eye was a little wider, his arm glowed a little brighter. But Magnus painted his happiness all over his face. He beamed, and his eyes glowed, and he fought the urge to lift Angus in the air with every fibre of his being.

Angus took the seat that was unoccupied, not minding that he was facing Magnus at the round table rather than next to him. Magnus spilled tea all over the table in his enthusiasm to pour it. Angus was about to get to his feet to grab the towels to clean it, but Taako placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t sweat it short stuff. I got it.” Taako said with a flamboyant flick of his wrist, mage hand grabbing the towels and slam dunking them onto the table. It made Angus laugh, just a little.

The four sat around the table, drinking their tea late into the evening. They talked for hours. Merle talked about Mookie’s latest wrestling injury, and Mavis’ interest in taking over her moms business, and the new conjugation of Pan worshippers he lead on the beach. His suggestion of nude worship had yet to catch on, much to Taako’s relief. Taako talked about new recipes, about travelling along the Sword Coast with nothing but his thumbs and a persuasive smile. He mentioned Kravitz, one exact titbit designed to intrigue without revealing anything of importance. Always leave ‘em wanting more, after all. And Magnus talked about Angus. Endless anecdotes of cases he half understood, of little bits of prose Angus had written, of things Angus had said that had left him rolling with laughter.

Merle asked about the new business once or twice. Magnus only ever talked about how great his accountant was.

Angus didn’t talk much that evening. But every small request for more tea, or quiet laugh, or one word correction to Magnus’ stories was precious. It was held aloft like the height of wit and humour. Angus’ hand was always held by someone, the slender fingers of an elf, the small grip of a dwarf or the rough weight of a human carpenter. 

They wanted him there, for some reason he couldn’t quite understand. Right now, he didn’t need to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings this time.
> 
> Not proof read, so be forgiving.

It was another two weeks before Angus went back to the barn. It was an unexpected step, taken by accident. Taako and Merle had stayed for a few days at the house after their visit. Angus had found himself wanting to talk more, now that he did not have to talk about what happened. Taako was forever quizzing him spells and components, seemingly for his own benefit more than Angus’. Merle would spend the day in the garden, complaining about the state of Magnus’ vegetable patch while Angus would keep the dogs from the harvest. Even Magnus seemed to have other things to discuss, talking about the leaves turning orange and the way the neighbours stared at their visitors. But the two of them left, Merle and then Taako, once their own lives called back to them. Both took Angus to one side. “Call if you need me.” They’d both said. An awkward pat on the shoulder or the back. And then they walked out the front gate and vanished down the road.

The house was terribly quiet without them. Magnus offered to close the workshop so he could keep Angus company, but Angus refused to let him. Said the dogs were enough company. So long as he had work he could do, he would be fine. And it was true, in a way. He’d been eating more day by day. It was hard to say no to Taako’s leftovers. After two empty days, Angus asked to review the ledgers in the house to have something to do. After some reluctance, Magnus relented, and began having orders delivered to the house. Every morning he would walk to the door, look back at Angus with a reserved smile, and head out to the barn.

Angus had a question about the ledger. It was a new one, though Angus pretended it wasn’t. It too clean on the covers and too messy inside to be the one Angus had last used, and most notably, the name Gregor McDonald was not inside it. Magnus had copied out every line of the previous one, which lead to some pages which were almost impossible to understand. He’d been adding new clients and projects, but his note taking had not improved. Angus could see he was trying, no letters reversed and all writing within the boxes. It must have taken a long time.

But as he reached the third name in an hour he couldn’t hope to decipher, he tucked the book under one arm and picked up a lantern. How to ask Magnus for help without upsetting him? Magnus was self-conscious, or as close as the man ever was to that, about his writing. His reading, too, on those nights Angus was too tired to read himself. It had never bothered Magnus, or had never seemed to, back at the Bureau. But there was something about living around Angus, who lived and breathed books, that put him off balance. One foot placed in a realm it was never meant to be. 

Angus could easily make Magnus feel small, if he so wanted to. Correcting his pronunciation, or turning his nose up at the easy reading Magnus struggled through. There were times that Angus felt the urge to do so too, an instinctual desire to prove he was better in such a tangible way. It was how his attempts at reading had gone when he was younger: a savant of a kind, but never quite smart enough. A page too slow. 

How can you not know what “typical” means Angus?  
It’s exper-tease, not expert-eyes, Angus.  
Another silly detective novel? When will you read real literature Angus?

It had pushed him to do better. To read faster and to know longer words. It was what had made him good at it. He enjoyed successfully closing a book that had once challenged him, adding it to a pile of clear victories. He didn’t remember any of those books he had stormed through in this way. But he had finished them, and that was what mattered.

“Magnus, I don’t mean this in any mean way, and it really isn’t a big problem, but I just need you to-”

“Angus.” Magnus’ voice was barely above a whisper.

“What?” Angus asked, quietly.

“You’re in the workshop.”

Angus looked around, and he realised that he was. He hadn’t even thought about it, too caught up in how to ask Magnus about the names without upsetting him. He was several steps into the workshop, standing opposite Magnus at his worktable. 

“Oh.” Angus said.

“You okay?” Magnus said, carefully setting his tools down.

Angus thought for a moment. “I’m okay.”

“Do you want to leave?”

Another moment of thought. “No.”

“What did you need, short stuff?” Magnus said, leaning forward on the table.

Angus couldn’t remember for a second, and then handed Magnus the ledger. Magnus got the message without needing to be told, and opened the book. He walked Angus through all the projects he had not been there for, putting pieces to names as they walked through the barn. To say Angus had forgotten what had happened was inaccurate. But the memory has begun not to be so close, the bruises it left beginning to fade.

It was nice to know they were allowed to fade.

The tour was interrupted by a knock at the door. A glance passed between Angus and Magnus. Magnus nudged Angus behind him as he called out, “We’re closed right now!”

“When will you be open again?” An older woman’s voice came through the door, more disappointed than angry. “It will only take a moment.”

Magnus looked at Angus. Asking for permission. Angus nodded, quietly. He didn’t come out from behind Magnus.

“Come in then.” Magnus called, his arms crossed.

The woman entered. Her dress, bright green and far too expensive for this part of the world. She was older woman, her hair a uniform dark grey beneath a green hat with silver hatpins.

“Oh, hello there young man. I’m here on as a messenger of sorts. You are Magnus Burnsides, correct?” She said, wringing her hands through lace gloves.

Magnus nodded, cautious.

“My, he wasn’t lying. You are big brute, aren’t you?” The woman seemed to panic at her own statement, “Not that I mean anything by it, you mind, he mentioned you were a former adventurer.”

“Thank you.” Magnus said uncertainly.

“I’m afraid I’m looking for the other young man here.” The woman said.

Magnus put his hands down, a hand open for Angus to take. Angus didn’t, pressing closer to Magnus’ back.

“I’ll take a message.” Magnus said, with a tone of finality.

“I’d much rather tell him to his face, but I suppose this will have to do. I’m very sorry. My husband is a man of strong feelings, and his actions here were unacceptable. When I heard what he was doing here, and to your son of all people, well I rushed right over.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Who are you?” Magnus asked. Angus peeked around Magnus, unable to stop himself from doing so. He began to notice some of the woman’s details hadn’t before. The neat and precise bun her hair was tied in. The nervous, 1-1-2 beat she tapped out with her heel. The pale scar by her ear from a poorly done haircut. It was his mother:

“Emilia McDonald.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Mom.” Angus said, surprising himself and Magnus. He didn’t remember calling his mother mom. He didn’t remember calling her much of anything. She was a busy woman, running the McDonald estate and petitioning the local lords. Angus had known a dozen uninterested nanny’s better than he’d ever known his mother. He’d known she liked terracotta, because that was what he was told to get her for candlenights and birthdays. But that was all.

Emilia smiled at him vaguely. “Oh, how polite! No need to call me ma’am young man.”

Angus felt something shift in his chest. The thought of the voidfish came to his mind, and for a moment he was confused. It turned words to static, in most cases. But for smaller things, things that could be reconciled by the mind, people created their own solutions. The ring of keys with no known doors were dismissed as old remade ones. The door was not thought of because it was easier to assume the keys had no purpose.

Emilia walked up, offering a hand to Angus. Magnus instinctively stepped between them. Angus appreciated it. But this was not like his father. His mother didn’t terrify him. His mother infuriated him.

“Can I ask what your name is?” Emilia asked, putting her hand down weakly. She asked the question around Magnus.

“Angus McDonald.” Angus said, with a cold voice. It made his blood boil as he realised that she could just have easily posed this question before the void fish. She didn’t know him. She was a stranger, connected to him purely by name.

“Agnes is a funny name for a boy.” Emilia said, with a frown. Her disapproval was pointed at Magnus, who had his hands in shaking fists. “And with a different surname to yours? How interesting.”

“He’s adopted. His parents didn’t deserve him.” Magnus said, teeth gritted. Angus felt his stomach drop. She had no idea: she could never have any idea. But it was rude, unthinkably rude, to deny his mother. She had brought him into the world, had given a roof over his head, had given him a lineage. She gave him so much, how could he ask for more?

“Oh, some people just shouldn’t be parents. Far too taxing an undertaking for some.” Emilia said.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Magnus said, face seething with anger.

“I suppose I should make out the cheque.” Emilia took a check book from within a fold in her dress, and opened it on Magnus’ worktable. “I’m sorry dear, it’s flown straight from my head. What was your name?”

“Cheque?” Angus asked bluntly.

“Yes dear, to repair the damages. I suppose a thousand gold pieces will be enough to put this behind us?”

Something in Angus broke. But it was unlike when his father visited, where he was crushed under the weight of endless anxiety. This break was sharp, and cold, and it jutted from his consciousness like a shattered bone. He pushed past Magnus, and began to yell.

“I don’t want your money! You always thought you could do everything with money! All you ever did was throw money at me and it never, not ever worked! All you had to do was tell him to stop! You knew I was real hurt, and you didn’t do a thing. Why didn’t you?! How much more was your marriage to my father worth than me? How much was I worth in the end?! I was a little boy. I didn’t deserve it! I didn’t!”

Magnus had not been touching Angus. He seemed afraid of hurting him, or stopping him. But as Angus’ head pounded and his throat ached Magnus crouched down to hug him. He held him close, and rubbed slow circles on Angus’ back. Angus just stood there, arms pinned to his sides, shaking. He was not crying. He did not feel as though there was anything to cry about here.

Emilia looked as though there was a record in her head that had skipped. She recovered admirably. She was a politician after all. She closed her cheque book with a snap. “Well, if you’re going to be rude I don’t see us making a deal here. It’s very impolite to yell at your superiors.”

Angus got out of the hug. He felt so much anger running through him that he was afraid of saying something he would regret. She would not remember. He would. It was a heavy burden to have on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Angus said, through gritted teeth. “I guess I’ve yet to learn that.”

“Don’t blame yourself young man. Upbringing is what makes a man.” Emilia shot a look at Magnus, who grinned infuriatingly. He had enough of an ego that these comments were nothing short of hilarious to him. An innate stubbornness and a completely open face made for an unsatisfying target for criticism.

“I don’t want your money ma’am.” Angus said, sincerely.

This comments seemed to completely throw her. “Then what would you like?”

Angus knew a thousand things he would like. He could ask her to say she loved him, or that she wished she had done a better job with him. But it was hollow. Angus often wished he had a mother. He loved Magnus, Merle and Taako, but he was forever sure that he was missing some necessary puzzle piece of his life. That it was the lack of a mother that made him so nervous, made him so lonely, made him so terribly _Angus_.

Angus asked for something he never thought he would get. “I would like some first edition Caleb Cleveland’s, preferably signed.”

“Those silly detective novels? By G. M. Elroy?” She said, with condescension radiating from her like a bad smell. “You know, I think we have some of those. I’m not entirely sure where they came from, you’re more than welcome to take them.”

Angus thought back to how he had loved those copies. The way he’d written his name in the front of each of them in gradually improving handwriting. How proud he’d been when he’d asked an author a question that had made him think. They were his. He was taking the last piece of him away from the McDonald’s.

Emilia left quickly after that, seeing no reason to stay now her business was concluded. Magnus had seemed unsure why she had come at all, but Angus knew. Reputation was one of the few things she was proud of.

The books arrived by courier a few days later. Angus displayed them with pride in his room, paired with dog eared paperbacks of the same stories he’d read with Magnus. (They still only read the paperbacks. Magnus had a habit of breaking the spines of hardbacks that horrified Angus.)

Magnus checked in Angus a lot. Frequent, “y’alright bud?” when they were sitting quietly by the fire. A “penny for your thoughts” as they were walking the dogs. A “d’you need anything” before their usual bedtime ritual. Angus loved that he cared so openly. But he was ok. He was really ok.

The McDonald family never visited again. But their name was above the door. Magnus eventually put up the sign over the barn, having finally settled on a name.

“BURNSIDES WORKSHOP & MCDONALD INVESTIGATIONS”

And then in smaller text beneath.

“A family business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done! More Dad Magnus at some point for sure, but this particular story is put to rest. 
> 
> This got real sappy, I can't help it.


End file.
